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Hospitalized: A Memory

I’m as dramatic as they come. Anyone that knows me personally has told me straight up that I’m the biggest drama queen they’ve ever met. It’s not the kind of drama that would give you the impression that I’m talented in any sort of theatrical aspect. It’s not the kind of drama that entails gossip or starting shit just for the sake of starting shit. It’s the kind of drama where I overthink anything and everything to the point of freaking myself out to the point of actual physical pain.

For example, one time I had convinced myself that I was going to shit myself in my high school math class. The fear of actually crapping my pants in class had freaked me out so bad that I had actually made myself physically sick to the point where my teacher had to escort me out of the room in a wheelchair and called my mom to pick me up. Turned out it was just gas. My bad.

It’s not quite hypochondria because I don’t think I’m sick all of the time. I’m just an extremely pessimistic person so I just assume the worst case scenario is the most realistic expectation of whatever situation I happen to be in at the time.

So imagine how badly I lose my shit when something is ACTUALLY going wrong with my body.

The other day I was at work and I was moderately busy. I was sharing a section with one of my coworkers and she was trying to have an easy shift so she kept letting me have all of these parties that were coming in. I was really excited about it because I have reached a point in my life where I am so poor that I’m seriously considering selling one of my kidneys.

I had a party of 10 which consisted of 10 sweet teas and 10 sides of ranch dressing. As I’m running around, trying to keep up with their refills, I got a little hungry. When you’re working in a restaurant where you’re surrounded by food and you’re also so poor that the dollar menu seems overpriced, you’re going to snag whatever you can eat whenever you can. I saw a can of sweet potato fries sitting in the window and I ate one.

(If you think that’s gross, get over yourself because I guarantee you that any order of french fries you have ever ordered in a restaurant has had at least two fries stolen by a restaurant employee. Sharing is caring.)

So I eat my fry and I continue on with my work. Soon, my head begins to itch. Okay, nothing too weird about that. I scratched it and continued on.

It itched again.

And again.

I can’t stop scratching my damn head to the point where it’s getting unsanitary. So I tell my friend to watch my tables because I have to go to the bathroom and just scratch my head for a few minutes in private. I figured I could go to the bathroom and just attack my head to the point where I’d get relief and then I’d be golden. Then my neck starts to get irritated.

I’m waiting outside the bathroom and one of the dishwashers is staring at me because I can’t refrain myself from scratching.

“Uh…are you okay?”

“I don’t know, man. I think I’m having some sort of reaction to something.”

“Your face is looking a little red.”

I go into the bathroom and look at my face. It’s slightly red but it was hot in the restaurant and my face just gets overheated sometimes. My neck was bright red from where I had been scratching but no matter how hard I scratched, I felt no relief.

I immediately went to my kitchen manager, Stephen.

“I’m having some sort of allergic reaction.”

“Okay…to what? What are you allergic to?”

“Cats.”

“Did you eat anything?”

“A sweet potato fry but unless you’ve just recently added felines to the recipe, that’s not the source of the problem.”

He stares at me for a few minutes, obviously not taking me very seriously, and then takes me into the office to calm me down because I’ve already convinced myself at this point that something is seriously wrong.

We get into the office and he begins questioning me about what I had to eat that day.

I told him I had some bread and soup and that sweet potato fry. I told him I didn’t have any food allergies and that I was breathing just fine.

My general manager, Aaron, had been sitting at his computer, not paying me any attention. He’s decently knew to our restaurant but he is already used to my over-dramatic tendencies. Eventually he gets irritated enough to go fetch me some Benadryl to help with the itching.

Stephen keeps asking me questions and I can feel my upper lip start to tingle. Immediately after that I can feel my forehead tingling. My whole face begins to tingle until I can’t even feel it.

“Is my face swollen?”

“No, it looks fine.”

I don’t really believe him but I’m so busy scratching myself that I don’t bother to look in a mirror.

Aaron returns with the medicine and as soon as he walks in the door he looks at me and says, “Holy shit.”

Panic strikes and I grab for my phone and turn on my camera. I look at myself and immediately start to cry. It looked as if someone had just stabbed me in the face with Botox. I looked like a damn 80 year old woman. It was so swollen and it hurt to move my mouth.

Stephen is having a ball with all of this because he just finds my pain to be excruciatingly hilarious. I take the medicine and try to convince myself that I’m not going to die while Aaron calls a nurse to figure out what he should do.

As he’s on the phone, I notice that the itching has now moved to my arms, legs and back. I’m in my full work uniform which is extremely constricting so I start unbuttoning my shirt and hell, I was this close to taking off my pants just so I could scratch easier. But I managed to just focus on my arms.

Aaron hands the phone to me and I talk to the nurse for a few minutes. She asks me stupid ass questions like my address and my telephone number. Bitch I’m dying! Sign me up for your damn email listing later.

At the end of the conversation she tells me I need to go to the emergency room. Really, bitch? Do I? THANKS.

Aaron offers to drive me and I hide my face in shame as I make my way to his car. My coworkers are trying to flag me down to ask me if I’m okay but I’m not in the mood to answer any questions or for anyone to see me as an 80 year old woman.

So here I am, sitting in my manager’s BMW listening to Dave Matthew’s Band as we head towards the emergency room at Park West Hospital.

I HATE PARK WEST. Let that be known. It’s the worst hospital and I’m decently convinced that if you go in those doors, you’re probably not going to come out. I’m sorry, I just…I just really don’t like it there. But it was the closest one and I appreciated Aaron for taking me regardless of his selection.

We arrive at the ER and Aaron tells me to go inside and check in while he parks the car.

Sounds easy enough, right?

Wrong.

I approach the front desk and the woman asks me what the problem is.

First off, your attitude is the problem. Secondly, I’m having an allergic reaction.

She hands me a clipboard and tells me to fill it out. I take the pen in my hand and start to fill out my name and address and whatnot.

I open my mouth to let the woman know that something really isn’t right but the next thing I know I’m on the ground.

“What happened?!”

I look over and see Aaron standing over me.

Damn, he parked that car quick.

“I think I fucking passed out!”

I’m starting to panic a little bit because all of these nurses are crowded around me and trying to pick me up to set me in a wheelchair. I manage to get into the wheelchair and they move me into another room to get this show on the road. All you have to do in a hospital is pass out and they’ll start taking better care of you. A little trick I’ve learned from my little experience.

I tell Aaron to call my mom because at this point I’m a little worried. I can also tell that Aaron is taking this a tad bit more seriously because now I’m not just being dramatic. Something is actually going on here.

The nurses wheel me into a nearby room and begin taking my blood pressure and asking me questions, one of them being if there is any way I could be pregnant.

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes…”

“There’s absolutely no way that you could be pregnant?”

“Well, I haven’t had sex in God knows how long and I started my period about two hours ago and bled through my pants at work. So no. There’s no chance I could be pregnant.”

Does this happen to anyone else??? I feel as if everytime there is something wrong with me the first thing people assume is that I’m pregnant. I understand doctors just need all of the information in order to properly treat me but damn, all you have to do is ask me once and I’ll tell you the truth. Also, they ask you in front of uncomfortable people like let’s say my mother or my boss…kill me.

Speaking of being on my period, I’m starting to have major cramps so I ask the doctor for some pain meds. I try to be a little silly and crack a joke about being a woman and being in pain from bleeding to death and maybe lighten the mood. I might be swollen like a balloon but that doesn’t mean I have a bad attitude. She shoots me down without even a smile and I decide to sit there quietly and death stare at her as she types on her computer.

Another nurse comes in to bring me to my room so I can meet the doctor. I’m cramping really bad at this point and really just want to get this over with so I’m ready to go. Except the two nurses are apparently friends and they start having a conversation about their lunch break…

“Excuse me, hi there. I’m in a lot of pain here.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

Sorry?? ARE YOU KIDDING?

I could go on for about another four paragraphs of how much I fucking hate this hospital and its staff but I’ll just let you all use your imaginations.

She wheels me to my room where I meet my actual nurse, Gary, who tells me to take off my rings on my fingers before handing me a hospital gown to change into. He pulls the curtain and tells me to let him know when I’m decent.

“Hey, Gary. I have my nipples pierced. Do those need to come out?”

“Uhm…I think you’re good to keep those in.”

How the hell was I supposed to know those weren’t supposed to come out? I figured I’d ask but as soon as it comes out of my mouth I regret saying it because now this 60 year old nurse knows I have my nipples pierced. Sigh.

Gary then hooks me up with an IV. I’m not squeemish with needles but when you miss my vein three times and begin digging into my skin with a big ass needle, I’m going to yell profanities at you.

“God damn it, Gary!” “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to get a good one!”

I don’t believe Gary was very fond of me at first but I was there for about three hours and I eventually had him smiling.

I watch a lot of Grey’s Anatomy, so I was trying to be one of those patients that just really sticks with the main characters, ya know? Real life is far more boring, let me tell you.

He gave me a shot of steriods, Benadryl and Epinephrine. I was feeling better already.

Aaron eventually came into the room to see how I was doing. I was surprised he was still there if I’m being completely honest.

I told him I was feeling fine and I asked if my mom was coming. He told me no, but that he would stay.

I was a little embarrassed that my mom wasn’t coming to the hospital and that my boss was here instead but he didn’t seem to be bothered by the idea. I quickly told him it wouldn’t be necessary for him to stay and I thanked him for everything he had done. He gave me a fist bump and went on his way.

I spent the remainder of my stay watching Dr. Phil and nodding off every few minutes.

Eventually, my roommate and her boyfriend came by and picked me up. I left with a prescription for some steroids and an Epi Pen but I’m not trying to grow a mustache any time soon so I haven’t even picked up my prescription…oops.

The doctors couldn’t tell me what I had a reaction to unless I scheduled an appointment with an allergist. They did tell me that they didn’t believe it was food related because my mouth/throat/lungs were not affected in any way. I have a strong feeling that it was my new shampoo I just switched to which I’m pretty irritated about because it’s supposed to be a more natural shampoo and it smells like sexy heaven.

I spent the rest of my day eating junk food and watching Netflix which basically means my day ended as it always does: hungry and alone.

I wish I could leave you with something more than too much information about my body and its functions but, sadly, that is all I have to offer. Oh, and maybe the advice to not change your shampoo ever again because you might turn into a grandma and piss off all of your nurses.

Also, I just want to take a quick minute to thank everyone who called/texted/messaged me to see if I was alright. I didn’t respond to really any of you because A) I’m lazy and B) I knew I was going to write a blog post about this which would have answered all of your questions about what happened. So sorry for taking so long, I realize now that might have been a little rude of me. Thanks again for caring.

Just reading this has made my head start itching. And I haven’t changed shampoos in years (mainly because I don’t have a choice, I live in a – very – small town).
Nasty experience and I’m glad you’re OK now